


The End of All Things to Come

by Niccolò Machiavelli (Piccolo_Machiavelli)



Series: Before the Storm, After the Fire [4]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Machiavelli - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_Machiavelli/pseuds/Niccol%C3%B2%20Machiavelli
Summary: Machiavelli has to tell his wife the unthinkable.





	

Up above me, somewhere, the clock strikes the next hour. The tolling of the bell thunders, resonating deep within my chest. Somehow, every hour I have spent here, the thing has never failed to startle me. But no longer will I hear La Vacca sound above my head. With my belongings slung over my shoulders, filling my hands, and wrapped around my body, I clumsily make my way down the stairs, followed closely by Agostino and Biagio. The guards escort us, but they keep their distance, only starting to make their way down the stairs as we are all casting one last glance at the interior of the building we all took for granted. Biagio and Agostino are headed home, no doubt. I, however, must hope to find one.

We don’t stop running until we are at the outer edge of the Piazza, until Agostino yanks on my arm and pushes Biagio and I into a secluded corner of the street. “Merda, I can’t run anymore. I can barely breathe,” he chokes out, kneeling on the ground to catch his breath. Tears leak from his eyes, and he looks down self-consciously, aware that I am watching. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“We wait, Agostino, we wait. That’s all you and I can do. But, Niccolò…,” Biagio trails off, looking at me, setting down his bags and inhaling sharply, “you can’t stay here. They’ll have your head before you know it. We have to get you out of the city. You’re not safe here.”

Don’t remind me, I think to myself, don’t remind me. I don’t ever want to hear those words. “Surely I can spend a couple of days more here! Plenty of time to take everything and move it to… to…” To where? Even I do not know. My flowering maiden, my beloved city, will be gone from me, and I will never see her again. I have taken her for granted, and now she will forever be just out of reach. “To my father’s old estate in the countryside. It’s… a short distance away from here.” And I smile. I do not want to worry them.

“We’ll come with you. We’ll help you move, if you would like,” Agostino suggests, picking himself up off of the ground. Biagio picks up his bags and holds on tightly to them. “We’re never over, you know. I’ll always write to you, and you to us.”

“I appreciate your help, but I’m afraid that this is something I must do alone,” I reply, grabbing desperately at the light that threatens to slip away from me.

They nod. They understand. Biagio looks up at me again. “How are you supposed to drag all of- of that out to your father’s place? You have furniture! Clothing! You have-”

 

“A family,” I finish. “My wife, Marietta, and my children at home. How am I supposed to tell her about this? To get her to pack up her things?” No one’s ever told me that it would be so hard to continue smiling after all of these years. It’s become what everyone expects of me - the jokester amongst my circle of friends. I, the one who can turn everything into a complete mockery, have learned to do so, despite the pain. “How will the children adjust?”

“That’s why I offered my help, Niccolò,” Agostino responds. “I’d be perfect for this!” He begins walking ahead of us, and we trail behind at a much slower pace than before. “I’m great with children, a loving family man, and I take care of any crying women I come across. I’m a gentleman for the whole city.” He grins, and I laugh, even though I do not want to. 

“There would not be a day that I live that I would ever trust you with my children. I say that fondly,” I comment, and he howls with laughter. “Don’t think I don’t remember the time I watched you leave the crying woman you were consoling in the street to come and talk to me in the market. You’re loyal to me, and then to your own wants and needs.” Not a day older, I swear.

“You’re so cruel,” Biagio adds, winking at me. “You can both go to the Devil. You handle the children, and I’ll handle your wife.” Agostino gasps in mock horror, and I shake my head at them. There’s other reasons for me not wanting anyone to come with. It’s sort of like a pilgrimage, isn’t it? Going off to the Holy Land, a Rome far away from Rome. “But honestly, are you sure that you don’t need our help? This could be the last time you ever see us.”

“Dio mio, don’t say something like that. Gesù forbid it,” I mutter just loudly enough for them to hear it. “I’ll always come to pay you a visit.” Our path stops at Biagio’s street. He casts one final glance at the Piazza, at me, before we start to walk down the road.

“You can’t. Have you already forgotten?” Biagio replies, embracing both Agostino and I. I want so badly to weep, but what use is it? Fortuna would laugh at me now. “Brother, I will never forget you. I am always here, and I will always be here. All right?”

“Florence is invincible. We are not,” I remind him. He bids me farewell, and I watch as he turns his back on us. He casts a furtive glance over his shoulder, but he does not want me to notice it. He does not want to do it, but he is compelled. Even from here, I know that the tears he has hidden this whole time have sprung from his eyes. One more light is gone from me. 

Agostino and I do not follow Biagio to his house, but we leave the street as soon as we see him disappear from sight. From out of the shadows, I can feel the guards on every corner watching, waiting, for me to disappear from sight as well, never again to be seen inside the city walls. My tenure is over. This is the end of all things to come, isn’t it?

For a short while, we chat to ourselves. We do not speak of the Medici, or the Signoria, or the Palazzo. We do not discuss our conspiracy about the Spanish. We speak about small things: the weather, our families, our plans for the spring and summer. Agostino and I laughingly debate about whether or not his growing joint pains are because of the weather, or because of something else, trivial matters like that. At a few moments, however, neither of us says a word. We just take a leisurely, but pressured, stroll through the streets. One last time. That’s all I get for my efforts all these years. Everyone is but a memory, but I will never forget them.

“My street is at the corner. You know, Niccolò, all you have to do is ask, and I’ll be there. All comments about your wife aside. I’m sure she’s a very lovely woman,” Agostino says, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “I’m-I’m here, and…” he trails off, not wanting to repeat Biagio’s words so as to receive the same comment from me. “Fuck, Niccolò. I’m so sorry. I’d take this for you if I could.” 

Is he being sincere? Without a doubt. Wholly? Well, no. He couldn’t bear the burden of having to pick up and go. “I believe you. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you would do that for me. You’ve always been there.”

“And I always will be.” This time, I do not care to correct it. “Farewell, my dear friend. You will never be forgotten.” He embraces me and his arms bite my skin like steel, heavy and overbearing. A cold reminder of the chill that is to come as winter sweeps in, and I will no longer be inside the safe city walls, but exposed in the countryside. I watch him as he walks away and disappears from sight, and I look to the left, expecting to see another friend or someone waiting there, but I am in no pleasant company. I am, for the first time, truly alone.

It is a short while before I reach my own house. I choke back tears, barely even willing myself to open the door. “Marietta,” I cry out, pushing it open, “Marietta, are you there? Per favore, answer me.”

Marietta emerges from the kitchen, flanked by Primerana, Baccina, and Bernardo. “Amore,” she croons, sauntering over to me and throwing an arm around my neck, standing on her tiptoes. Her hair falls in her face, outlining features barely marred by age. She pulls down the collar of her dress, smirking at me suggestively. “You’re home early. Missing me?” She backs up when she sees the look on my face. “Niccolò, what is it? You’re flushed. You look like you’ve been running. What’s going on?”  
“Papà!” they cry, running over to me and embracing any part of me that they can reach. Marietta doesn’t allow them much room. “What happened?”

“It’s over,” I finally choke out, “It’s over. The Medici are back in the city. Biagio, Agostino, all of us. We were all… well…” I can hardly put it into words. “They’ve removed me from office and slandered my name. We have to leave the city, now. It’s not safe for us. They’ve put an order out on me.”

“Che cazzo?” Her embrace grows urgent until she realises what she has said. She covers her mouth modestly. “Ah, forgive me, I’ve picked up your bad habit. What do you mean, leave the city? We live here. Here. This is our home and where we’ve both lived for the past-”

“I know, Marietta, I know,” I cut her off, suddenly feeling ill. “God, what the hell have I done? They’re robbing me of one thousand florins! What if all this is my fault and I’m just refusing to accept it? What if-”

“No more words,” Marietta murmurs, firmly pressing a hand over my mouth. She shoos our children away, sparing them the details of the conversation, but it is no use. Tears have already begun to gather in Primerana’s eyes, and Baccina clings to her leg nervously, still too young to understand fully the magnitude of the situation. “You tried, you did all you could. It doesn’t mean you weren’t a great man. They’re forcing us to leave. All right… we’ll have to make do elsewhere.” She’s beyond distraught, but she does not show it. “With whatever we have left, of course. With whatever we can take with us.” 

She ushers me over to a chair and pushes me into it, taking a seat on my lap. Playing her fingers through my hair, she leans into me, kissing me fervently. I wrap my arms around her, not desperate for contact but in need of her gentle embrace, and she breaks away with a barely distinct sob. I cannot meet her eyes. “We should leave as soon as we can. Would be a damned shame for a guard to kick open the door to find you and I like this, wouldn’t it?” I suggest, and she smiles, sliding her hands lower until her fingers dance along my hips. I inhale sharply, digging my nails into her back, and she giggles, pulling away from me. “Oh, I see how it is. Leaving me wanting, as always?” I subtly undo the ties of her bodice, never changing my expression.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she says, yanking at her bodice, but not to close it. She slides the dress halfway off of her shoulders, exposing her pale skin, and then pulls it back up with a flourish, winking at me. “I always fulfill, unlike you, dear husband.” She stands up, pulling on my hand. “Come. We have places to go.”

~

It does not take us long to gather our belongings. We cannot take much except for our clothes, our precious heirlooms, and our children. They are almost entirely silent in their rooms, save for faint crying that I can hear through the doors as Primerana explains what happened to little Baccina. “We’re leaving?” Baccina asks her, and Primerana solemnly confirms it. Marietta, however, restlessly fills the air with conversation. I do not mind it at all, and for a brief moment, it feels as if I am speaking to Biagio or Agostino in the Chancery, and I pay little attention as I leave the bag of florins on top of my desk. She is a spirit, floating from place to place, as am I. 

“The city looks so beautiful right before day disappears into the night, doesn’t it?” Marietta asks, leading me over to the window. She wraps her nimble hand around my waist. “And long after we are gone, it will still be here, waiting for us. Everything is ready for us to take. I’m waiting on your word. Do you want to leave now before the guards come out after dark?”

“Just one last look. Just one,” I answer. “Will they remember us here, Marietta? Will anyone remember us, or is it all in vain?” I blink back the fast-approaching tears. “Is there anything left for us?” 

“Only if you want them to. If you want to be remembered, you must do something. This city stands the test of time, and only the best deserve a place here. What do you think?” Marietta tells me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Florence is invincible. We are not,” I reply, pulling her closer to me and watching as the last few rays of sunlight dip below the horizon from a view never to be seen again in this lifetime.


End file.
